


Moves Like Sanchez

by eastcoastlighthouse



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: F/M, Incest, Irresponsible Drug Use, Underage Drinking, basically the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7636477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eastcoastlighthouse/pseuds/eastcoastlighthouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rick begrudgingly picks Summer up from a party, he doesn’t like what he sees. Determined to show his granddaughter what <i>party hard or not at all</i> really means, he drags her to an extraplanetary nightclub. Featuring a playlist and drinks recipes so you can get down and dirty with Rick and Summer from the comfort of your own home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tiff McNeil’s parents were out of town for the weekend. They were out of town a lot, and Summer quietly suspected that might contribute at least in part to Tiffany’s general attitude (or _oppositional defiant disorder_ as the school counselor had told Tiff, and as Tiff had indignantly relayed to the rest of them). At any rate, while Summer tried to be sympathetic, she found it difficult for two reasons: for one, she would have been thanking her various lucky stars and guardian angels on her bare knees if her parents deigned to clear out every now and then, and secondly, it meant that Tiff’s parental home was the perfect party venue.

This Saturday, it seemed like every force of good in the universe had worked together to make this particular party a fantastic one. It was a clear night, a slight chill in the air as spring turned into summer, and Cody’s brother was in town for the weekend and had been courteous enough to hit up the liquor store for them, asking only a modest five percent service charge on top of the cost of the booze. They’d had to pool resources, but it was still better than their usual hook-up, who wouldn’t even take their calls for less than a fifty dollar down payment. 

“You having a good time?”

Summer turned around. She’d been queueing for the bathroom and was starting to suspect it was being used for more nefarious purposes. Cody handed her a drink -- a red solo cup with slightly murky contents. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Baileys, root beer, and bourbon,” he explained, tapping her cup with his own. “I call it a Get Drunk Or Die Trying.”

“Sure,” Summer laughed despite herself and took a sip. The name seemed quite apt. “Are you like, bartending now, or -- ?”

He shrugged, shaking his head to get his dark fringe out of his face. “I figured you might need a drink. I’m pretty sure they’re hooking up in there. You could be standing here for a while.”

Summer eyed the door wearily. “I was only gonna check my makeup anyway.”

From the living room, a raucous cheer and a rolling “Oooohhh!” went up as the music changed from unrelenting drum ‘n’ bass to something sappy with violins and trembling vocals, and just as Summer wanted to make some snide comment about it, Cody leaned in, his breath cloyingly sweet, and said: “Well, you look great to me.”

Caught unaware, Summer immediately went for the hot girl defense mechanism, and slapped him on the arm, her laugh a bit too high and tittering. “Shut _up_.”

He grinned, his teeth still a bit too big for his narrow boy’s face, and backed off. The DJ apparently felt that whatever moment had been there had passed as well, and the music changed back to pounding bass lines and seductive synth. “Let’s go dance,” he insisted, and he took her by the elbow before she could protest.

They stumbled into the living room, which was bathed in red light for the occasion, making the McNeils’ subdued, suburban living room look more like an especially spartan brothel. The crowd was that perfect mix of people Summer knew and people she’d never seen before in her life. “Summer!” a small group near them shouted, and Summer watched several heads on the dance floor turn in her direction with satisfaction. She raised her cup to her friends, and then she was dancing with Cody, and she could tell he wanted to kiss her, and she had just decided she might just let him if he kept smiling at her in that bashful kind of way when she was yanked away from him by the back of her dress.

Expecting some jealous bitch (and ready to claw someone’s eyes out if strictly necessary), Summer whirled around, only to be faced with over six feet of pissy Sanchez goodness. Her grandfather said something she couldn’t hear over the music and the noise, and she gestured angrily at him to indicate as much, spilling a little of her drink. Rick seemed to misunderstand (perhaps on purpose) and grabbed the drink out of her hand, gulping down at least half of it before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grimacing.

“What are you doing here!” Summer screamed, the same heads and then some again turning in her direction. She could feel a blush creep up her neck and she glanced around at Cody, who simply stared at her grandfather.

Rather than respond, Rick seized her upper arm, and Summer barely had time to form the thought _I wish all these guys would stop pulling me around like they’ve got me on a leash_ before he was leading her off of the dance floor and out of the house, past the couples drunkenly making out in the hallway and the guy throwing up in the umbrella stand.

Rick slammed the front door shut behind them, and finally let go of Summer’s arm. She jumped back, rubbing her arm where his fingers had held her tightly enough to leave a white imprint. “What’s wrong with you?” she said, trying to will away the angry tears welling up in her eyes.

“I-I-I’m coming to -- eeuughh -- pick you up, Summer,” Rick said, sniffing the cup. “Y-your mom, she’s -- she’s pretty pissed, Summer. You know you gotta ask for permission instead of begging for forgiveness.”

“What do you care?” Summer folded her arms sullenly, looking over towards the living room window. Cody had apparently cut his losses and was now dancing with some hot brunette. Shit.

“I don’t,” Rick shrugged, “or -- or let me say I _didn’t_ until I showed u-EEEUGHH-p to this lame-ass excuse for a party. What the fuck, Summer? You listening to Pendulum in there? I feel like I’m back in 2007. And what the hell is this?” He downed the rest of the drink. “I’m a -- a fucking alcoholic, Summer, and this is -- it’s _shit_. This is a shit beverage. And this,” he threw the cup towards the house, “is a shit party.”

“I was having a good time!” Summer protested. She helplessly watched Cody put his hands on the brunette’s ass.

“Because you, y-you don’t know any better, Summer.”

“And you do?” She turned back to face her grandfather, her face red with embarrassment and hot with barely suppressed fury. “You’re like a hundred! When’s the last time you went to a party? During Prohibition?”

Rick, who’d been a bit unsteady on his feet, suddenly stilled. He raised one steady index finger and wagged it in Summer’s face. “Don’t you -- don’t you start that. Grandpa parties hard and you know it.”

“Getting high and throwing up on a lawn isn’t partying, Grandpa Rick,” Summer bit back, and strongly considered biting his finger, too.

“Look, Summer,” Rick said, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “I-I’m just saying, this is -- life’s too short to waste it on, on _Baileys-based mix drinks_ and teenage boys and -- and dancing next to a, a fucking ficus.”

Summer opened her mouth to argue but clamped it shut. There was no use debating Grandpa Rick. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go home. Fine.”

Rick looked as if he wanted to say something more but stiffly nodded and led her to the spaceship, which he’d haphazardly parked on top of Mrs. McNeil’s rose garden. They took off into the dark blue, star-speckled night, and when they arrived back at home, she got out of the ship without another word and headed up the stairs, responding to her mother’s angry “And where the hell have you been?” with a surly “Out.”

She fell down on her bed, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered why she spent so much time trying to help out Grandpa Rick when he was caught in some kind of fix when all she got in return was this bullshit.

The next morning, her parents briefly tried to lecture her during breakfast (her dad even making a half-hearted threat to take away her phone) before getting into an argument with each other about the appropriate consequences for Summer’s misbehavior and subsequently forgetting any consequences were in order at all. She spent the rest of the Sunday moping around the house on her phone while her grandfather and Morty went off on some stupid adventure. That was just like Grandpa Rick, wasn’t it? Ruin her Saturday evening and then take her little brother out for some exciting Sunday outing.

Growing up in the Smith household, despite its many drawbacks, at least ensured that Summer wasn’t the kind of person to hold a grudge, and after a particularly awkward Monday morning at school (“Was that your _actual grandpa_?”) Summer more or less forgot about Rick’s interference in her Saturday plans. Rick seemed to have forgotten too, as he didn’t bring it up during dinner. More likely, he just didn’t care.

On Wednesday night, however, Summer was roused from her sleep in a way that Morty might have been totally familiar with, but that took her by surprise. In the darkness of her bedroom, her grandfather’s sour breath wafted over her face as he none-too-gently shook her by the shoulder and whispered: “Wake up. C’mon, Summer. Y-you gotta, you gotta come with grandpa.”

“What?” Summer scooted out of his grasp, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Not important,” Rick said, before changing his mind: “It’s time to party.”

Summer stared at her grandfather blearily, her eyes adjusting to the darkness just enough to see something that surprised her even more than the fact that Rick had paid _her_ a nocturnal visit rather than her little brother: Rick seemed, for all intents and purposes, almost sober. “What?” she repeated.

Rick whipped the blanket off of her. “I was - I-I was thinking, Summer. That was a real dick move, me coming to -- me dragging your ass home last Saturday. And -- and I was thinking, you know, you’re my, my _flesh and blood,_ Summer, and you’re in high school and y-y-you party like it’s 1999 in-in the bad way, Summer. So get -- put on y-your dancing shoes and, and let’s cut a rug, okay? Cut a rug with grandpa.”

“Grandpa Rick,” Summer began, but now that her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, she could see that her grandfather wasn’t in his usual lab coat. He wasn’t even wearing his sweater and those godforsaken corduroys. His shirt looked filthy, but in a studied kind of way, and the tears in the fabric strategically exposed the less liver-spotted parts of his chest. “Is that one of your old band shirts?” Summer said, squinting at the print. “Does that say _bearded clams_?”

Rick pulled his shirt down and looked at it. “Oh, uh -- they, they used to open for us. The chick they had on synth was a -- y’know, it’s, it’s not important. I’m pretty sure half of them overdosed back in the eighties.”

“Are you wearing ripped jeans?” Summer asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Is that a studded belt? Grandpa, what the hell?”

“Look, I-I’m not gonna apologize for wanting to relive my glory days, Summer,” Rick rolled his eyes. “At least I had glory days, y’know? Y-you might still have a life of perfect mediocrity ahead of you. Or,” and here he put his calloused hand on hers, “you might -- you could get a head start on your glory days and come party with grandpa.”

Summer wanted to point out the way _party with grandpa_ sounded like it would involve Werther’s Originals and ballroom dancing, but there was an eagerness in the way Rick’s mouth hung open a little, a sincerity that made him look uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Really?”

“If you’ve got something good to wear,” Rick said, but he grinned crookedly, and she knew there was no way she wouldn’t be accompanying him.

“What kind of party?” Summer slid out of bed and headed over to her wardrobe.

“Extraplanetary,” Rick said, “so it doesn’t actually matter what you wear. Y-you’re gonna get looks either way. You could probably wear your pajamas and it’d be fine.”

Summer scoffed. As if. “Okay, I’m gonna change, so,” she said and made a little shooing motion.

Rick didn’t move, simply gaped at her, until he finally understood. He shook his head. “Yeah. Of course. Hey, don’t -- y-you’re just gonna, this is just gonna be you and me, so you don’t have to put on your face. I-I’m leaving in ten, with or without you.”

“Fifteen,” Summer said without looking at him, rummaging through her wardrobe to find something suitable. When Rick didn’t reply, she turned around, only to catch him wiping a trace of a smile off of his face. He nodded and left.

Twenty minutes later, Summer was sneaking down the stairs. She might have received a personal invitation from her grandfather, but she was still fairly certain that if her parents caught her leaving the house at 1AM on a school night, there’d be trouble. It had been difficult to find an outfit -- Summer prided herself on her ability to dress for any occasion, but _going clubbing with your grandpa on a different planet_ had stumped her. The pink halter dress she’d decided on was a safe choice, and there was something rebellious in her that wanted to dress as differently from her grandfather in his black vintage punk bullshit as possible. She’d slapped on some mascara and prayed she’d be able to shake off the sleepiness in her eyes once she was outside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Summer proceed to have themselves a real good time. One might even say they're having a ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch_videos?video_ids=lTx3G6h2xyA,1MQUleX1PeA,qAeybdD5UoQ,o4KrpUbYO_c,NMBmBWM_mNE,OORoOGY8D2M,VrvMzMMdoeU,ncpo9K1jPZQ,RH26_wwBaRE,R0WYf4LlYSU,2sWpoPVwamQ,E9kSZKxSSos,ATP_NqMQ_Q8,nZl165WDjDA,00EHvWj_Qus,svDNWbSTeAU,JEyRg5mXLAQ,uLbZPbnBHMw,75kS7hSbhKk,EttnAzbusC4) for your perusal.

Rick, for all his posturing, hadn’t left yet, although he was impatiently fiddling with his portal gun by the time Summer made her way downstairs. “Ready, princess?” he said, a little too derisively for Summer’s taste, but she nodded, glanced up the dark stairs she’d just come down, and found herself bathed in the unhealthy green glow of the portal. Before she knew what was happening, Rick was pulling her through the portal, and the oppressive silence of her home was exchanged for a bone-shaking bass and the combined noise of hundreds of different life forms singing along and screaming in each other’s ear (despite some of them not seeming to have any ears at all). If Summer had been a little worried about her outfit before, it was clear enough that Rick had been right -- the variety among the partygoers was so great that there was no real way to fit in or stand out.

“See?” Rick’s mouth practically touched her ear as he shouted over the music. “Doesn’t matter. I-I’m getting us a drink.”

Summer grabbed his shoulder to pull herself up so she could reach his ear. “I’m not twenty-one!”

Rick laughed and headed towards the bar, mouthing something that looked an awful lot like _who the fuck cares?_ over his shoulder.

Left to her own devices, Summer suddenly noticed the stares she was getting. In fact, other than Rick, none of the other people in the club looked human. There were plenty of humanoids, but even those eyed her -- some turning to their friends to jerk a thumb at her and grin at each other, but some looking her up and down in a way that had her flustering. One particular alien who had apparently elected to wear a pair of wedges and then called it a day slid up to her and nudged her in the side, smiling a smile that involved entirely too many teeth and gesturing towards the dance floor with one sleek arm. Summer shook her head and to her relief, the alien shrugged and headed off on their own.

Just as she was starting to feel a bit more comfortable, her hips swaying slightly to the infectious beat, Rick returned bearing two drinks. Summer took one, squinting at the highball glass which was filled with a rather plain-looking liquid. “It looks so normal,” she shouted in Rick’s ear, and he rolled his eyes.

“If you want a fucking Hpnotiq you can go order it yourself,” he shouted back. “This is Numandian rye[[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7636477/chapters/17386135#note1)] and it will riggity-riggity- _wreck your shit_.” He tossed back half the drink, produced his flask from one of his pockets, and refilled the glass.

Summer sniffed it, had a taste, and barely had time to think _that’s not so bad_ before she was stumbling backward, only held upright by Rick’s strong hand around her upper arm.

“It-it’ll pass,” he laughed, but there wasn’t an awful lot of malice in the way he looked at her. “Next sip’ll be better, trust me. Just y-your -- your shitty human body trying to process what’s happening.”

Summer immediately took another gulp, and although her legs almost gave away (Rick lurching forward with the effort of keeping her standing up), the mildly impressed look on her grandfather’s face was entirely worth it. “You’re right,” she nodded and pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Okay, grandpa, I got it.”

Rick raised an eyebrow at her but then headed towards the dance floor, motioning for her to follow him. The music seemed both familiar and foreign somehow. She felt like she recognized several of the samples used, but some of the sounds were unlike anything she’d heard in any song (was that a bicycle bell?) and whenever she tried to pay more attention to the words, she found she couldn’t understand them at all. If it hadn’t been for the undulating movements of the crowd as she pushed through it, she would’ve had trouble picking out the beat -- as it stood, the ripples traveling through the bodies surrounding her had her moving to the rhythm despite herself.

Rick seemed to know more than a few people -- he handed out high-fives generously, and Summer was relieved to find that walking in her grandfather’s wake meant nobody was paying her any attention any longer. A few times, she watched him turn around and jerk his head in her direction as he shouted something at an acquaintance, and Summer wondered what he was telling them. _I’m just here to show my dumb granddaughter what it means to have a good time?_ Somehow, from the way he grinned when he caught her eye, she doubted that.

Once he found a spot that apparently appealed to him he stopped, and the crowd made space for him as if he was surrounded by some sort of field that people wanted to be close to, but not touch. Summer stepped towards him and found that they were close enough that she had to look up to look him in the eye. Not that he was looking at her any longer -- he’d raised his glass, spilling a little on the people dancing next to them, and was shaking his hips with a lot more fluidity than someone his age should be able to. He’d tossed his head back and closed his eyes, and Summer felt that if it had been anyone else getting lost in the music like this they would have looked like a tool -- but not her grandfather. She took another sip of her drink. This time, she only felt it burn on the way down.

As the music seamlessly transitioned into something with a bass that changed the rhythm of her heartbeat, Rick threw the rest of his drink down his throat and looked down at her. He handed his glass to a passing alien with a shimmering exoskeleton and then gestured at her glass. Summer scoffed but handed it to him anyway. Truth be told, she was feeling the kind of light-headed that usually signaled that it was time to start pacing herself. Rick made a little mock bow as he took her drink, quaffed it too, and wiped his mouth before thrusting the empty glass at yet another passerby.

Now that she no longer had her drink to keep her hands busy, Summer started to feel a little self-conscious. “Cool music,” she said, trying to match the volume of the music.

“What?” Rick said, frowning and cupping a hand next to his ear.

“I said I like the music!”

“Sure!” Rick said, not looking particularly like he’d heard her.

Summer was starting to worry that this entire night would just be her trying to hold an increasingly vapid conversation with her increasingly inebriated grandpa when she was surprised by him sliding an arm around her waist. Her first instinct was to punch him in the face, but it was a lot easier to dance to the unfamiliar music with Rick’s body guiding her. Her hands hovered awkwardly at shoulder-height. Should she wrap her arms around his neck? Would that be weird? What if he pushed her off of him -- if things got awkward, she couldn’t even get home without his help. Her fingers trembled, and right as she decided that even if he gave her shit for it, he was the one who’d slipped an arm around her in the first place so she might as well reciprocate, the warm pressure against the small of her back was gone.

Rick had spotted someone in the crowd and was now making a beeline for them, shouting at the top of his lungs, the other patrons of the club parting before him like stage curtains. Summer could see the path he left on the dance floor begin to close, and lunged after him without a second thought -- unfamiliar bodies touching hers, skin of all varieties: slimy, dry, scaly, soft, freezing cold, almost scathing. She could only just spot her grandfather’s hair peeking over the crowd ahead of her, and she could feel her throat constrict at the thought that she might lose him.

And then she lost him.

She whirled around again and again, disoriented by the bright lights flashing in her eyes and the unfamiliar sights and smells distracting and confusing her terribly terrestrial mind. “Grandpa Rick!” she shouted, cringing as she heard her voice break. No one seemed to notice, and she knew she’d have to push through the crowd in the last direction she’d seen him leave.

She jumped up to try and look over the crowd, but it was a hopeless attempt. So many of the partygoers were taller than her. She could only just see the DJ booth, where a many-limbed alien was spinning records on something that looked like a stovetop. Could she go up to them and ask them to put out an announcement? No -- that would just cement her as a child in Rick’s mind. She could find this asshole on her own.

Looking around for a sign of her grandfather, she suddenly bumped into another person. She was ready to chew them out in case they looked like she could take them, but was faced with an alien that looked somehow familiar. Blue skin, antennae -- “Unity?” she shouted.

“What?” the alien, dressed in an oil slick-colored suit shook his head. “Hey, you look like you’re looking for something.”

Summer couldn’t believe her luck and grabbed the alien’s hands. “Yeah!”

“You look like you’re looking for a good time!” the alien winked, and before Summer realized what was happening he’d slung an arm around her shoulder and was slowly but insistently guiding her through the crowd. “We don’t get a lot of humans here,” he said, his breath hot on her ear. “They’re gonna love you in VIP.”

Summer tried to struggle but found she couldn’t resist both her guide’s assertiveness and the natural flow of the crowd. “No, you don’t--”

The alien was babbling on about something she couldn’t hear over the incessant beat and shrill female vocals, and she could feel tears welling up despite herself. She’d been in plenty of shitty situations with grandpa Rick, but at least he’d always been there. Now she was all alone, and for all she knew she was being carted off to the VIP room as a snack.

Finally, they arrived at a curtained-off area, guarded by a bouncer that did the concept of being built like a brick shithouse absolute justice. “She’s with me,” her consort grinned, and the bouncer wordlessly stepped aside, inclining his massive head at her as she was pushed through the velvet curtains and into the sanctuary of the rich and the shit-faced.

The more she saw of the universe, the more she realized it wasn’t all that different from Earth. Here too there were scantily-clad aliens dancing up on people that would never have been in the same league as their private dancer for the evening if they hadn’t been loaded. A small group was huddled over a table in a corner, cutting up something that Summer first thought was LSD, until she realized it’d probably be something much less innocuous.

Especially because Rick was part of the huddled mass.

“Grandpa!” she shouted, her hand itching to shake him or slap him or worse. 

He looked over at her, his pupils dilated and a lazy grin on his face. “Yo, Summer,” he said, giving her a little wave. 

Summer stormed up to him, but stopped when she realized the people Rick was sitting with were looking at her -- some curious, but others seemed none too pleased. “I lost you,” she said, folding her arms. “You can't just leave me like that.”

“But you found me!” Rick lurched to his feet, and to Summer’s great surprise wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his warm chest.

Summer pushed him away. “Are you on something?”

“Yeah, no shit, Summer,” Rick said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw my buddy Gloop here and -- and, y-you know how it goes.”

Summer frowned. She'd never met an old friend only to do drugs with them minutes later. 

“Maybe not,” Rick decided, grabbing the ass of one of the passing dancers. “Hey, no judgment. Y-you, you've got a different lifestyle. I get it.”

Summer felt her face flush. The other people at the table were now looking at her with unanimous pity. Rick was trying to paint her like some stupid Earth bumpkin in front of all these strangers, but she wasn't about to let him. She slapped her hand down on the table, grabbed a few of the tabs, and shoved them into her mouth. 

It was the first time she’d done any sort of drug, except for a little weed here and there, and it hit her like a train. The edges of her vision blurred like she was traveling through a tunnel at great speed, and it was as if someone had put a filter over her eyes, red hues emphasized in a way that made everything look like the inside of an oven. She clutched her forehead, which was disconcertingly hot to the touch, and could feel her legs shake with adrenaline.

“Hey, hey,” Rick said, and he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders to set her down on one of the soft couches lining the walls. “That's -- you go from zero to a hundred real quick, Jesus.” He grabbed a glass off of a tray and held it to her lips. “Water. If y-you're gonna be like this, you gotta hydrate, dummy.”

Summer gratefully drained the glass and then made an effort to focus on Rick. Her eyes seemed to want to wander, and she had to squint to force herself to look at him. “Thanks,” she said.

Rick, for all his inebriation, looked a little worried but was quick to flatten out his features when he caught Summer’s look. “Don’t sweat it,” he shrugged. “It’s -- it’s only that first kick that hits you like a mule. Try standing.”

Summer got to her feet, and although she couldn’t help but sway a little, she felt reasonably certain she could stay upright on her own. In fact, she was starting to feel like she’d never want to sit down again, as if standing still was the same as being dead -- and she was alive, wasn’t she? “I want to dance,” she realized, and looked over her shoulder, the eyes of the crowd now less threatening and more inviting. She reached behind her to grab her grandfather by the arm, her innate sense of self-preservation telling her it’d be a good idea to have him around right now, but miscalculated and found herself holding his hand instead. She turned back, looked down at his hand in hers, and noted that in her red-tinged vision, his hand looked less unhealthy and old. 

“Jesus, Summer,” he said after a moment of silence that seemed to last a lifetime. “Okay, okay, we’ll dance.” An alien that looked more like a sheet flapping from a laundry line than a person half-enveloped Rick, Rick’s face hidden from Summer’s by its opaque body, and her heart rate quickened. “No, I-I gotta, I gotta hang out with my granddaughter,” she heard Rick say, and she only realized how widely she was smiling when the alien wafted away and she saw her own relief and joy reflected on Rick’s face. “Let me -- one more drink before we do, okay?”

“Sure,” she said, only to immediately add: “I want one too.”

“Y-you don’t gotta do all this stuff to convince me you can party with me,” Rick said. “It’s, it’s starting to feel like I’m some clubbing sleazebag preying on young women.”

“You’re not,” Summer was quick to assure him, giving the hand she was still holding a squeeze.

“You would know,” Rick shrugged, and headed to the small private bar in the corner of the VIP room, kissing the bartender -- four tits, a wide and friendly face, too many digits -- on both cheeks before placing his order. He returned with two tumblers that gave off an inviting orange glow through the pink drug-induced haze. “A Sunny Afternoon[[2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7636477/chapters/17386135#note2)]. Nothing like it when you're already in a mood like this."

Summer laughed -- the drink seemed so unlike her moody grandfather, but she took one of the glasses anyway and sipped it. Rick had been right -- the restless energy that had had her tapping her feet felt more enjoyable now, like the universe was full of opportunities and she could reach out and seize whichever ones she liked.

“You gotta toast me, Summer,” Rick chastised her. “C’mon.” He held out his glass, and she dutifully clinked it, then noticed his intense stare. “Y-you gotta make eye contact, Summer,” he explained. “It, it’s bad luck if you don’t. That’s seven years of shitty sex right there.”

Summer felt a blush creep up her neck. “Don’t be gross,” she said, trying to laugh it off but not particularly successful. Rick’s undivided attention wasn’t something she usually experienced, and it felt a little like those nightmares where she was pushed onto a stage in a packed theater without knowing her lines.

“To Rick and Summer,” Rick said solemnly. “Rick and Summer, one hundred years.”

Summer wanted to be glib, lighten the mood a little -- _one hundred years? Like our combined ages?_ \-- but again there was that unfamiliar sincerity in the way the corners of Rick’s mouth trembled almost imperceptibly, like he was trying to smile (or trying not to). “Yeah,” she decided, “Rick and Summer, one hundred years.”

Rick grinned crookedly and took her free hand before apparently changing his mind. He let go, and with a little bow said: “You lead.”

And she did, but not before grabbing his hand -- deliberately this time -- and giving him her most dazzling of smiles, brighter still than the smiles she used to get out of things or the ones she used when she really needed to get her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 If you want to get riggity-riggity-wrecked on Numandian rye like Rick and Summer, this is considered an acceptable Earth substitute. Take two parts of your favorite rye whiskey (I’m partial to Rebel Yell myself), one part ron miel (Cocal, for example), and three parts Jamaican-style ginger beer. Shake gently with ice and pour into a highball glass. You could garnish with orange peel, but Rick would judge you. [ [return to text](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7636477/chapters/17386135#return1) ]
> 
> 2 Even if you’re not flying high on intergalactic MDMA, a Sunny Afternoon is bound to make your day just a little brighter. Mix two parts grapefruit soda with one part sparkling water, one part Cointreau and one part elderflower liqueur (like Marie-Brizard Fleur de Sureau). Add a dash of rose syrup and pour into a tumbler filled with crushed ice. Garnish with a sprig of mint. As a side note, while Rick and Summer are mixing alcohol and drugs, please don't follow their example. Rick might have the hardest-working liver in the galaxy but us mere mortals need to be more careful. Remember to get fucked up responsibly. [ [return to text](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7636477/chapters/17386135#return2) ]


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer and Rick take their private party far from the madding crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel terrible for leaving an E-rated fic up for so long without any real action. If you came here expecting hot smoochin' and left disappointed sometime during the past, um, nine months – this one's for you!

The dance floor felt different now, and Summer wondered if the friendly faces around her were the drug messing with her perception of things or if it was the fact that she’d just come from the VIP lounge that made the rest of the crowd that much happier to have her there. She looked behind her, Rick stumbling a little to keep up with her while not spilling any of his drink, and finally she got to where she needed to be – the very center of the floor. Like before, the people around her only took one look at Rick before parting just enough to give them space to breathe.

“Center stage, huh?” Rick said, his glass now mostly filled with crushed ice.

Summer took his drink from him and turned to her side to find a mesh-covered alien that looked like the result of an unfortunate crossbreeding experiment involving a human and a lobster. “Could you hold these for us?” she asked, amazed at her own self-confidence as the words left her mouth. To her even greater surprise, the alien nodded eagerly, their mouth hanging open a little as they took care of the two glasses like a glorified bar table.

Dancing with Rick was only awkward for a little while – his dancing style was so different from hers, all fluid movements and raised arms. Summer had to keep her instincts to get rid of some of her excess energy by jumping around in check, hypnotized by the smoothness with which her grandfather dominated the dance floor. He had his eyes closed once again, his shoulders moving to the rhythm more so than his hips, and Summer was almost thankful for his ridiculous habit of dancing blind – this way she got to look at him without having to face that piercing stare.

The music changed, the beat growing dirtier and dirtier. She noticed the crowd around her grow denser as people sought out a dance partner to get up close and personal with. The lyrics were unfamiliar to her, but she realized that Rick’s lips were moving – was he really singing along? She’d partied with her grandfather before, of course – but this time there was no Morty, no Birdperson, no groups of friends that adored Rick without exception. Despite the fact that they lived in the same house, she’d never felt as close to Rick as she did now, and as the chorus hit and the crowd around her erupted in an ecstatic roar, she wrapped her arms around Rick’s waist.

She half-expected him to push her away, and flinched when he grabbed her arms. When he opened his eyes, they seemed darker than their usual brown, his dilated pupils boring into hers. He said nothing as he guided her arms to wind around his neck instead.

He leaned forward. “You’ve got no rhythm,” he said in her ear, “you, you gotta pay attention – let grandpa show you how it’s done.”

All air was pushed out of Summer’s lungs when he then grabbed her hips and pulled her flush against him. Underneath his ridiculous outfit Summer felt his heart race, and his skinny body felt surprisingly solid – so unlike her almost ephemeral grandfather who flitted in and out of her life at a whim and barely spared her a glance when their paths did cross.

He made good on his promise to show her the ropes – with their bodies this close, Summer couldn’t help but move in perfect sync with him. The music sounded very far away now, and she could only bear to look at him for a few moments before casting her eyes down, uncharacteristically demure.

“Hey,” she heard him say, his gruff voice melting seamlessly into the thumping music, “y-you okay? Is it – if, if you start feeling nauseous you need to tell me, Summer–”

Perhaps it was the concern in his voice that had her looking up, and perhaps it was the way he tried to hide his worry behind a studied mask of nonchalance, and perhaps it was the fact that that mask couldn’t cover the look in his eyes. Maybe it was the serotonin that was at that very moment flooding her system after the alcohol had made quick work of the parts of her brain that controlled her inhibitions. Or it could have been because his mouth hung open a little and so did hers so it was only natural to close the gap. 

She was kissing him before she knew it, and she tried to tell herself she’d meant it as a grateful peck on the cheek and she had just missed, but then she could feel his lips tremble against hers and there was that sour taste she’d always suspected would be there – hypothetically, of course, because she’d never envisioned a moment like this, with her mouth on his and his lips dry and chapped and his nose a little in the way and his body tensing up.

He pushed her away then, looking around wildly, but no one seemed to care very much. “What the fuck?” he said, although he looked more scared than angry.

Summer felt her stomach’s contents rise up – no, it almost felt like her stomach itself was clawing its way up her throat, as if she was about to turn herself inside out. “I’m, I’m,” she stammered, and she was still trying to formulate an explanation in her mind when Rick firmly put his hands on her shoulders and steered her off of the dancefloor.

That was it, then. He’d portal the both of them home and never speak of it again. He wouldn’t tell her parents, but he’d ignore her with more fervor than before, she was sure of it. He might even disappear completely – Morty had articulated concerns like that before, that he wasn’t sure Rick wouldn’t just run away again if things became difficult, that he didn’t know if he wanted Rick to take him with him if he did leave. Summer had never cared all that much because she’d never had anything to lose, no connection to Rick beside a tenuous one in that his existence had eventually led to hers.

But Rick kept going past the spot where they’d portaled into the club. The music was a bit more muted now, her elevated heart rate still keeping perfect time with the pounding bass, and he guided her right past the wardrobe, past the private rooms, past another bar, and finally into something that turned out to be a spacious bathroom – the toilet positively dwarfed by the empty space around it. The light was dim and orange, and Summer was a little disturbed by how visible her veins were under it – but not as disturbed as she was when Rick locked the door behind them.

The music was still audible, but Rick no longer had to raise his voice to make himself understood. He raised his voice anyway: “Summer, y-y-y-you, you can’t, you can’t be doing shit like that in public!”

“It’s the drugs,” she said too quickly, needlessly tugging down her dress.

“Is it?” Rick asked.

Summer couldn’t force herself to nod or to shake her head, so she did neither.

Rick continued: “Look, I, y-your grandpa’s got a lot of friends in this scene, but not – not everyone is aboard the Sanchez party train, so to speak, so why don’t we – y’know, you, there’s no reason to give them any more ammunition than they’ve already got, Summer.”

Summer was quiet for a moment, before she finally managed: “Why did you drag me here?” and she’d meant _to this club_ , she’d meant to follow it up with a _if you’re just going to cozy up to me and then get upset_ , but then he was upon her and she couldn’t finish her sentence because his tongue was in her mouth and his hand was grabbing her ponytail to make sure she didn’t pull away and still he was pushing, pushing until her back was against the tiled wall.

It was what she’d wanted back on the dance floor but without the crowd around her or the music loud enough to drown out her thoughts, it felt like a worse idea. Rick was too greedy, too aggressive, sandwiching her between his own body and the wall as if he feared she might run away if he didn't. He jammed a wiry thigh between her legs and pushed it up forcefully, hiking up her dress in the process. Summer was forced to stand on her tiptoes but even that wasn't enough to alleviate the pressure against her crotch. She raised her hands, still deciding between shoving Rick off of her and embracing him until Rick made the decision for her and pinned her wrists against the tiles. 

Rick kissed like people kissed in movies – devouring her entirely, catching her bottom lip between his yellow teeth, pulling away before moving in again, his tongue warm and strong and insistent against her own. Suddenly there was an angry pounding on the door and someone shouted something Summer couldn't understand. Rick broke the kiss to look over his shoulder and shout “Fuck off!” at the door. 

He turned back to look at her, looking disheveled, his lips wet and his eyes shining with the same thing that possessed him when he was running away from government officials or shooting at law enforcement. “What's with the look?” he rasped. “Isn't this what you wanted?”

“This is – this is gross!” was the only protest that rose to the surface of Summer’s conscious mind. 

“Yeah,” Rick grinned, and with his rictus grin and his torn jeans, with the wild look in his eyes and his old, sweat-soaked band shirt, Summer got a brief glimpse of who her grandfather had been long before he'd even had her mom. 

Still his leg was between hers and when he purposefully ground it up against her she had no choice but to gasp. “Grandpa Rick!”

“Y-you're gonna call me _grandpa_ while we do this?” Rick said. 

“Do what?” Summer asked, feeling herself slip into the very role of terrestrial ingenue she’d been trying to avoid all night, but powerless to stop herself. 

“We’re gonna fuck in a nightclub bathroom,” Rick graciously explained, and the matter-of-factness with which he'd said it was even more shocking than the hand he promptly shoved inside her panties. The tip of his index finger found her clit and it was a good thing he'd let go of one of her wrists because Summer needed to sling an arm around his clammy neck just to keep herself from sliding down the wall.

“Grandpa Rick,” she said, her voice too high and urgent. She tried to pull away from him but the wall behind her was as immovable as Rick in front of her, and Rick only seemed to respond to her protests by getting more aggressive. His fingers intertwined with hers and he rested his hot forehead against her own, closing his eyes but still grinning that Cheshire grin. “Please,” she choked out.

“You want me to stop?” Rick asked, and his devious finger paused. He pulled away a little to look at her, but there was none of that previous concern in his expression, masked or otherwise. He was challenging her.

And Summer wasn’t one to shy away from a confrontation with her grandfather, wasn’t one to keep herself from calling him out when he was crossing her boundaries or anyone else’s. But this was different – this moral quandary was harder to figure out than the ones she usually found herself caught in. Somehow Rick’s warm palm against her stomach made it a lot more difficult to think. She realized then that he wouldn’t continue unless she told him to, and she glanced away. “No,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t be shy,” Rick said, and he kissed her on the cheek she’d turned towards him. “I bet this isn’t gonna be the last time you get down and dirty in a bathroom. Runs in the family.” As if that was what had Summer flustered. He seemed intent on distracting her all the same, and continued tracing tight circles around her clit, before he had her wet enough to slip a finger inside her. “Looks like you don’t mind all that much.”

Summer still found it impossible to look at him and focused on the tiles, gleaming orange as if reflecting a fire somewhere in the room. She wondered if this would be less fucked up if she thought about someone else – if she conjured Cody and pretended he was the one currently roughly penetrating her with two fingers. Yet another impossibility. Her grandfather refused to stop running his mouth, and every time he rasped a new obscenity in her ear any thoughts of Cody evaporated and she was left with just her sweaty grandfather.

“You’re lucky,” he mumbled, burying his nose in her hair and breathing in deep. “Don’t usually go to all these lengths when I’m planning on banging a chick in a bathroom somewhere. Foreplay and everything.”

“You think this is foreplay?” she bit back, jerking her head to shoot him a withering look.

Rick didn’t seem too impressed and simply winked, licking his upper teeth with his tongue. “Give your ol’ grandpa Rick some sugar,” he commanded, and when Summer didn’t immediately oblige, added: “C’mon. You were so eager to suck face just now. Should I get some people in here? Get you an audience?”

Summer sputtered: “No! Of course not.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Summer,” he replied, sliding his messy fingers out of her to fumble with his zipper. “You think you were safer in there just because you weren’t alone with me? I-I could’ve fucked you right then and there, could’ve just thrown you down on the dancefloor, pushed you up against the DJ booth, which-whatever. Nobody would’ve minded.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Summer said, although she suspected he might very well be right. She suddenly was hit by the fact that she’d given their drinks to that crustacean alien. Would they still be holding them, just waiting for her and her grandpa to return? She’d never admit to any nervousness, but it rang out clearly in her subsequent giggle.

“Something funny?” Rick asked, his cock now free of the confines of his jeans. He was only half-hard, but pumped himself impatiently (almost aggressively), his cock looking especially blood-flushed because of the contrast with the pale skin of his fist. It wasn’t a pretty dick by any means – Summer had seen a few dicks in her time (although two of those belonged to her dad and her little brother and were by virtue of that not something she’d taken a lot of time to contemplate) and was well aware it wasn’t a particularly attractive body part in most cases, but her grandfather’s cock almost looked _hostile_ , veined and thick and with a surprisingly dark glans. Like something dangerous.

She only became aware that she’d been staring when Rick snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he said, and pressed his lips to hers once more – whether it was to shut her up or for some other reason wasn’t entirely clear. His spidery fingers curled around the hem of her dress and slid it up until her underwear was fully exposed, and even that final barrier proved no hurdle to Rick. Still kissing her, he pushed the gusset of her panties to the side before hiking up one of her legs.

“You gotta help grandpa out a little,” he panted in her ear, and Summer could only feign reluctance as she wrapped her leg around him. He grunted approvingly and then lined himself up with her.

Summer almost expected him to just push right in, but he was surprisingly patient, cradling her ass with his rough hands. The ridge of the head of his cock had her gasping as it penetrated her, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of his cock sliding home in its entirety – thick and invasive and _filthy_.

“You like that, baby girl?” Rick asked, and she nodded, hooking her chin over his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him as tightly as possible. The leg keeping her grounded was already trembling – as much with the responsibility of bearing her weight as with the almost painful stretch in her cunt, courtesy of her grandfather’s cock – and she was desperate to stay upright for as long as this would take.

“Fuck,” she managed. The rhythm Rick decided to set was punishingly slow and deep, deep, deep – even the almost tender kiss he pressed to her shoulder couldn’t extinguish the sheer frustrated fire crackling across her skin or the churning in her stomach. Was this how people fucked in bathrooms? She’d expected something more fierce and urgent and violent, but this was more like a tidal wave than a forest fire – growing and growing until it finally crested.

And crest it did. She squeezed her eyes shut, almost unwilling to let her grandfather tear an orgasm out of her but unable to stop him all the same. The brutal stretch, her overstimulated clit, the way he smelled like smoke and hard liquor and decades-old sweat, the sheer sliminess with which he licked the shell of her ear and whispered syrupy encouragements in her ear – how was she supposed to resist any of that?

“That’s right,” Rick said, “y-y-you’re _welcome_.” He pulled out, but before Summer could even wonder if he really was going to blue-ball himself after she got hers he put her down on her feet, turned her around, pushed her cheek up against the wall, and rammed his cock up her pussy once more. Any tenderness that might have been there might as well have been a dream. There was nothing gentle about the way he wound his fingers into her hair and tugged her head back, nothing saccharine in his selfish thrusts.

Summer tried to brace herself against the tiles, her face squished up painfully against the tiles every time her grandfather bottomed out. Was she aware (even if only subconsciously) that there was no stopping him now? Was that why she didn’t even try to fight back?

Did it have anything to do with the _good girl_ he growled in her ear as he fucked her like a dog?

Maybe it was the booze or the drugs or the still-audible bass from the dancefloor, but Rick sped up and sped up until his balls slapped against her with every violent piston of his hips, and it only took a little while of that until he pulled her hair viciously, arching her back – and that was it. When he pulled out, cum dribbled down the inside of her chubby thigh.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, and wiped himself down with a bit of toilet paper. “I’ll be outside.” And with that he left her, sweaty and buzzing and bewildered.

Maybe part of her had not expected to actually see him when she did step out of the bathroom – as clean as she could get herself; the hem of her dress had been stretched enough to no longer hug her hips and her mascara was running with sweat and sex and god knew what else – but there he was, looking for all the world like nothing had happened. He glanced back at her, and shot a portal at the wall.

Before she could walk through, however, he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her closer. The kiss he planted on the top of her head came as a surprise, and it was a good thing he dragged her through the portal because if he’d left her to her own devices she might have just stayed rooted to the spot.

Still, the moment they stepped out onto the driveway he let go of her and headed to the garage without another word. Summer knew better than to demand his attention and so she simply slinked upstairs and crawled between the covers, her panties still crusty with her grandpa’s cum.

The next few days were painfully ordinary – almost unbearably so. They had their family breakfasts, their family dinners. Rick took Morty on adventures, smiled at Beth, scolded Jerry. The few words he spared Summer were neutral at best (“Yeah, whatever, Summer”, “Y-y-you think _that’s_ algebra?”, “The fuck are you watching this shit for? _Paradise Hotel_ is where it’s at, biiiiiitch”) and indeed they were all he deigned to throw her way. Maybe nothing had changed after all.

Summer tried her hardest not to mind. Still, every time she glimpsed Rick dragging her little brother through a portal her stomach sank. Had he been disappointed? Maybe he felt she had taken advantage of him in his state of drugged intoxication.

Maybe he just found her boring.

After yet another miserable family dinner – her parents fighting, Morty half-asleep, her grandfather silently masticating and ignoring all the rest of them – she retreated upstairs once more, fully ready to reach out to anyone ( _anyone_ ) who might actually _like_ being with her.

She had just about made up her mind to send Cody a salacious text when her phone buzzed. She reached for it but the number that had just texted her didn't look familiar. Whoever it was, they'd sent her a picture of what looked like a poster. It advertised an X-Ray Rave, whatever that might be, and was followed by another text that consisted simply of a question mark. Summer stared at her phone, feeling hope bloom in her chest and trying her hardest to squash it immediately. 

Then another text: _this is ur grandpa btw_.


End file.
